


Night-Kissed

by limonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: EarthSpirit!Stiles, M/M, Nature, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limonade/pseuds/limonade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek didn’t always know why his hairs stood on end, but Stiles could feel each pore prickle in the moonlight and understand instantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night-Kissed

The moon bleached him a little more each month; every night that he lay on his back in the woods took the color from his cheeks the way the sun stripped color from plastic and bones. Derek didn’t always know why his hairs stood on end, but Stiles could feel each pore prickle in the moonlight and understand instantly. He closed his eyes when he thought it was safe enough; the light filtering through the branches left white web-like stains over his eyelids and cheeks. 

When Scott first turned, Stiles spent several nights moving fallen branches and yanking up roots to create pathways through the woods. He walked each one slowly and slid his hands against every tree until he had memorized the heavy scrape of bark on his palms. He didn’t tell Scott any of this, but he knew Scott could smell the forest on him. Maybe the forest smelled like him too; he didn’t know.

The first time Derek put a hand on Stiles’s thigh though, he froze like it was instinct and murmured, “Sorry.” Stiles had spread his calloused fingers over Derek’s neck and raised his head so Derek could understand the way he had etched the woods into his skin. That was the night he hitched a breath and bit Derek’s lower lip into his mouth. It was the first time he clutched the back of Derek’s leather jacket and watched the ground like he was afraid it was going to leave him. He let Derek drag his mouth down the side of his neck, then tore his eyes away from the dead leaves and dirt. 

The first time he asked, Derek rolled his eyes and told him he smelled like fear and wet leaves. Stiles once put his hands on his knees to catch his breath and Derek said he was making the animals anxious. The full moon that his dad got a flat tire and didn’t call to say he’d be late, Stiles drove his Jeep to the edge of the woods and sat peering into the dark with his knuckles white against the steering wheel until Derek showed up and slammed his palm against the window. “Stiles,” he’d said loudly through the glass, “Go home.” Stiles glanced at the unlocked door. He let Derek call him an idiot, then drew a breath through his nose. Stiles didn’t ask Derek if he smelled like fear then. He didn’t have to.

“He’s not here,” Derek told him finally, “Go home.” Stiles shifted gears, the veins in his neck jerking out when he turned to look over his shoulder. Derek was gone when he looked back. 

The first time Stiles had a panic attack in front of the pack, Derek dragged him outside and told him to breathe, just once, and Stiles heaved, digging blunt nails into Derek’s wrist. When Stiles’s throat stopped contracting Derek knelt down and said, “Don’t let it get that bad again, okay?” and Stiles tried to focus on the reflection of the moon in Derek’s eyes.

Every night that Stiles told Scott sure, go have fun with Allison, he ended up on his back in the woods with a switchblade in his pocket and the moonlight washing out his freckles. A few months after the first time Scott turned, the tips of Stiles’s eyelashes had faded to white and he could recognize Derek by the shape of the shadow he cast on the ground. 

Stiles kissed from the same deep part of his chest that ached when he was home alone. It made his tongue feel hot and numb even when the night curled around his lips and froze his teeth. It made him close his eyes so carefully that his lashes trembled and clung together with the dew. Nights that he trekked into the woods alone, he lay across a path forged by his own sweat and allowed Derek to wrap a warm hand around his ankle, swallowing the word, “Please,” when Derek caught his eye in the moonlight.


End file.
